


Hatchet

by dnovep



Series: God Made It Rain [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Getting Back Together, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Past Hospitalisations, Implied/Referenced Past Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Medication, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnovep/pseuds/dnovep
Summary: Set five years after 'O BB Poison', Dan is 24 and stable for the first time in his adult life. Is it worth potentially unsettling his carefully balanced life to see Phil again? Will Phil even want to see him?





	1. rigid and rosey

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back!! thank you so much to everyone who left kudos/comments on 'O BB Poison', especially CurrentlyObsessed and PhilTrashNo164 for their support and lovely comments! ❤❤❤❤❤  
> it'll probably be at least another month before the second half of this (sorry!!), but i wanted to get this up for the people who were looking forward to it! :D  
> i hope this matches up to your expectations!! i really want this to be good. this series means a LOT to me. ❤
> 
> this fic also has a playlist (cos clearly i can't write without one). let me know if you want the link! ❤

Wokingham’s pretty quiet, especially in the middle of the day. The window above the bath is propped open and Dan can hear birds tweeting and cooing occasionally. Someone’s chatting with someone else in a nearby house, but only one side of the conversation is actually audible from Dan’s tiny bathroom. The quiet mumbles don’t make any sense from up here. Every time Dan moves the water in the tub splashes quietly. The sound echoes on the tiled walls.

The house is small and not much light makes its way in, but it’s cosy and it’s Dans. The rent is surprisingly cheap. The bills don’t add up to too much, especially ‘cos Dan isn’t there often during the days – or, _wasn’t_ there often. The sofa in the tiny living room is small and second-hand and when Dan sits there he sinks into the cushions. A fluffy grey blanket hangs off the back. No TV, Dan’s laptop has Netflix so what would be the point. The kitchen is attached to living room, the living room is attached to the front door entryway, the tiny entryway is attached to creaky narrow stairs. Bland dark brown carpet – ageless, hides the stains of dropped mugs of coffee. Upstairs there’s only one bedroom and the bathroom. It’s not a cluttered house – not messy, not clean. A bit dusty, but only because Dan’s not had a lot of free time to clean lately. He’d been working full-time for nearly a year, long hours most days, until last week. It’s fine. Dan knew he wasn’t going to work in a supermarket forever, wouldn’t have wanted to either. Sure, it was a bit of a shock to be fired, but it’s not really made Dan sad. When you work a minimum wage job for so long it’s easy to stop trying, to be late a few too many times. Oops.

It's okay though. It’s given him time to do this – to sit in the bath in the middle of the day. It’s nice to be relaxing at home instead of stood around all day feeling his back ache. Is this ‘self-care’? It was so bright in the store; this is nicer, calmer. Quieter.

Dan’s not stressed. He’s saved up enough money to last a few months. He has time to find a new job. Enough time to have a nice bath, at least. To listen to the birds outside. Maybe he’ll go for a walk later. That might be nice.

He won’t though, probably. There’s really no point. He’s not sad or anything, and he has the energy to take a walk, but… it just seems so _pointless_. Sure, he could see the birds he’s hearing, but they’re just birds. Dan’s seen plenty of birds in his life, he knows what they look like. There’s nothing new out there. It’s just the same quiet town as always, the same buildings he’s walked past for years. Why not stay home instead? Really, why not?

 

* * *

 

 

Dan needs a haircut, so he calls the nearest barber’s and books an appointment for early next week. It’s nice that that’s, like, a thing that’s possible now. A few years ago, that wouldn’t have been possible, he wouldn’t’ve even tried. By then experience had taught Dan that if he made plans he’d almost always miss them – either losing track of time entirely in a manic episode or lying in bed, unable to move and despising himself. So, it’s cool that he can make plans for the near future now.

Only the near future, though. Dan knows it’s inevitable that he’ll relapse. Sooner or later, it’ll all come back. Stability is just a remission. Relapse is inevitable. Why live any more than the bare minimum when this neat little life he’s building is just going to get ripped out from under him any day now? Best not to have much to miss. Dan never made friends at work, let alone outside of it. Friends and bipolar didn’t go well before, and he doesn’t want to lose anything more when It’s back.

It’s scary to think about, and very, very sad: The Inevitable Relapse. So, he tries not to think about it too much. Dan tries very hard – consciously and subconsciously – to avoid anything which might push him a little too far, emotionally. Dan’s brain feels a bit like a very carefully balanced scale, the old-fashioned type Lady Justice holds. If he _feels_ too much, he’ll tip it, causing the return of the chaotic swing of up and down that had been his life throughout his early twenties. His own brain chemistry seems very fragile to Dan.

Part of Dan - a very small, tentative part – tells him that maybe if he continues taking his meds religiously, continues seeing his therapist every Monday afternoon, maybe he’ll be allowed to stay stable. Maybe he’ll stay safe, from now on. Happily ever after – Dan pictures himself holding the hand of a giant Abilify tablet, skipping off into the sunset.

A much smaller part of him hisses, “relapse can’t come soon enough.” Hisses “this life is dull. This is what I fought for, went through so many medication combinations and side-effects and crummy doctors for? This is so unbearably _dull_.”

This isn’t where he pictured he’d be at 24 years old. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than what he imagined.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Dan dreams that he’s back in hospital. They aren’t nightmares, but they’re definitely not _nice_ dreams. Every time he wakes up from ‘hospital dreams’, without fail, he thinks he’s still there. Just for a moment, before his brain wakes up and he remembers where he is, who he is now. It’s always a huge relief.

He was only in twice, and not for very long either time. The first time lasted for about a month at the start of 2010. He’d slept at his friend’s house after a New Year’s party – well, the next day. The friend had taken him on the first train from London to Manchester and then a bus to Rossendale, all while Dan was still drunk. He had put Dan in his room and told him to sleep. (It hurts to think ‘ _Phil_ ’, still). (It hurts to even picture him in his mind, after how things ended). Dan had slept for six hours, which had been quite a lot for him at that time, and had woken to The Friend telling him that he had called 111 and they had recommended he take Dan to A&E. His friend’s Mum drove them there and had stuck around, holding Friend’s hand in the waiting room.

After that, Dan’s memories get blurry for a bit. A professionally concerned Doctor in a too-bright room. More waiting room time. Two people from the nearby Psych hospital arriving, talking to Dan in yet another too-bright room – he remembers the sound of the fluorescent tube lights whirring overhead, remembers staring at them while the Psych people tried to talk to him. Dan had spent the night in their hospital, drifting in benzodiazepine induced sleep.

Apparently, Dan’s parents had driven up and collected him the next morning, drove him back home. Dan doesn’t remember a lot of that. The next four weeks or so had been spent in the Floral Ward (Young People With Psychosis) in Reading’s Venture Hill Hospital. It was a cycle of strange people acting strangely, including the Staff, and medications and groups and meal times and a diagnosis – _Bipolar Disorder, Type 1_. The entire ward smelled like moss and bleach. The lights were always on.

Dan doesn’t like to think about it much. It makes him feel weird to remember, and weird feelings are to be avoided at all costs if he’s going to delay relapse for as long as he can.

The second time he’d been an inpatient had been a little over a year ago, when he’d tried to kill himself. It hadn’t lasted as long, but he’d had to stay with his parents for many months after. That had been… tiring.

It’s okay. He got a job and saved up, found a cheap tiny little house to live in, and he’s stable now. He got out.

He’ll find a new job. He won’t have to move back in with his parents.

The thought is scary and makes him feel sad, so, that’s another thing not to think about.

 

* * *

 

 

“If you never relapsed again, what would you do? If you knew you’d never relapse?”

Dan likes his therapist, he really does, but sometimes she asks the most pointless questions.

He shrugs, picks at the skin on his hands. “It just doesn’t seem possible, I guess.”

She hums, tilts her head slightly. “But, say it was. Hypothetically. What would you do?”

It’s a really big question. It just… it doesn’t seem possible. He’s never thought about it. Why torture himself with what he can’t have?

Maybe he’d contact that friend from 2009/2010. Maybe.

Not that he’d want to hear from Dan.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan doesn’t involve himself in the YouTube world anymore. He deleted those cringy videos that he had uploaded sporadically during manic episodes over the past half a decade. The comments on them had been awful. His peers had seen him at, arguably, his most ‘insane’. Unsurprisingly, very few of them had been keen to be friends with him – the ones that were keen weren’t good people. His teenage dream had been taken and spoilt by his mental illness. But hey, maybe he never would’ve got the guts to try anyway, without that manic confidence and impulsiveness?

(Sometimes Dan stays up thinking about what his life could be like if he didn’t have bipolar. He thinks it’d be better, but maybe not. Maybe he’d be a depressed lawyer who had never seen the world through mania-lenses, never seen the magic in everything. On the other hand, maybe he’d be living in London with Phil. They’d both be professional YouTubers; they’d be together in every way. It makes him smile to think of another Dan out there somewhere who gets to live his dream. Seems impossible though. Maybe he has bipolar in every universe. Maybe the bipolar is an intrinsic part of him. He never stays up thinking for too long – he has clonazepam for when he can’t sleep, to be taken once a week at most when he’s not manic. It’s very important to get a good amount of sleep.)

He still watches YouTube videos though, sometimes.

Therapy earlier had gotten him thinking. About Phil. Sometimes Dan misses Phil really badly. They hadn’t been friends for very long before it ended, but it had been _intense_ while it had lasted. Plus, Dan had admired Phil for a long time before their friendship.

His hair is a lot shorter now, is the first thing Dan notices when the page loads. He still has an emo fringe though. It makes Dan smile. The Phil on the screen is more guarded than Dan remembers, more… _bright and cheerful_ in the content he makes. But it’s still Phil, undeniably. He still has his unique way of thinking, it’s just used in a way that’s more ‘family friendly’ and less surreal now. He still has those unmistakable blue-green eyes, of course. There are laughter lines around them which didn’t exist back in ’09. Dan thinks it just makes them look even prettier. He hadn’t thought that was possible, but that’s just classic Phil isn’t it – constantly surprising Dan with just how beautiful he is.

It’s been years. Dan shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.

It’s a bit too much, a bit too ‘emotion-provoking’, and Dan’s tempted to just shut down his laptop and forget this ever happened. The video is compelling though, and Phil’s funny. The way he laughs and jokes with the camera, it feels a bit like he’s friends with Dan again, like they’re hanging out. It’s too nice to abandon, even if Dan knows he really should. At the end of the video Phil says “oh yeah! In case you didn’t know, I’m gonna be at Summer in the City this year! If you want tickets to come see me, the link is in the description!”

The idea is… appealing. Terrifying, but appealing.

Dan shuts down his laptop. It’s gotten late and he really needs to be getting to sleep now. That was… nice, though. Hearing Phil’s voice again was really nice.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Dan gets stuck on memories from when he was ill. The weirdest, smallest things send him back. Hearing a song he used to listen to; walking past a specific shop in town; smells, even. Seemingly anything can leave Dan gazing into space, his body safe and functioning in the present while his mind falls down and away. It’s going clubbing at Uni, which he’d done a lot of when he’d eventually gotten there. Sleeping with strangers – their rooms, the smell of their beds. Light reflecting off razors while he sat on cold bathroom floors. So many different types of medication – their names swirl and get confused in his memory, -pines and -pams. Antipsychotics and mood stabilisers and benzos. Medication for the side effects of medication. The time his Grandma cried when he was visiting her.

Looking back, it’s like he was in a teacup ride for years. All of it is a disorienting blur – bright lights, circus music blaring and way too loud, ups and downs making him motion sick. Faces loomed close, then jerked away.

He never wants to go back. Never.

 

* * *

 

 

Next week Dan sees his therapist with freshly cut hair and a tentative idea.

“I’m thinking about… going to Summer in the City. Maybe. It’s this convention for YouTubers. Phil will… He’ll be there.”

It’s a long and painful session and Dan leaves with a warm red face from crying so much and a brain still buzzing with uncertainty. He leaves feeling _excited_ for the first time since his last manic episode. Even if it doesn’t happen, which is probably won’t, it’s still fun to daydream about. It’s fun to pretend that he might go.

 

* * *

 

 

The train’s quiet and the diazepam Dan had taken before leaving his house is making everything feel really smooth and okay. It feels weird to be sitting on a train, going to London with his SitC ticket in his pocket and a hotel room booked for the night. His black backpack full of clothes and medication and his phone charger sits between his feet. It also contains (most importantly, maybe) confirmation for his place in a meet-and-greet with AmazingPhil. He knows he was lucky to get it, the day of the online ballot and the three weeks until getting the results were a bit of an anxious hell. It would be weird if Phil recognised him. He probably won’t recognise him. Dan is very different now, after all. It’s been five years.

God, maybe Phil will get angry when he realises who Dan is? Dan hadn’t been a very good friend back then, anger would be an appropriate response.

It’s too much. The diazepam floating around his brain is blocking his anxiety quite nicely and Dan has already had many panic attacks about today (they’d been happening fairly often since he’d gone ahead and bought the tickets, every time he spiralled off and found himself thinking about it). How is he ever supposed to feel prepared for seeing Phil again in person, for the first time since he’d left Dan in that hospital in Manchester back in 2010?  

Watching the trees blur together outside the window Dan gives in to the drug, lets his brain empty out and go calm. The conversations of strangers wash over him. Muddy green and grey-blue zoom past. It feels like the entire world, gravity itself, is pulling him towards Phil.


	2. a creature that will not resign to its fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is!! i hope you like it! i've wanted to finish and upload this for a while cos i really want to see what y'all think of it, but it's been surprisingly difficult to write given that i already had it all planned out :/ so, please leave a comment!! thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️  
> as always, if i've forgotten an important tag/potential trigger, please let me know! ty ❤️

He hears Phil’s voice before he sees him. It’s _brighter_ than he remembers, like he only speaks when he’s smiling. In person, he sounds more like a northerner than he does nowadays on YouTube. It makes him sound a little more like he did before. Dan can’t decide if he wants to be able to see him or not – either way he’s looking down. He’s just not ready. Not yet. The queue is so loud – the shrieks of young girls and the boasting of young men (in front of Dan a gaggle of young women coo and shriek to each other in whisper-shouts about something called “Phil-J”, behind him a couple of young men chat brashly and boldly about the camerawork in the latest KickThePJ production – Dan’s surprised PJ is still making videos on YouTube, if it’s the same PJ as he used to watch). Dan feels out of touch and awkward. He refuses to look up in case he sees Phil, but the idea that someone, somewhere, here might be staring at him, gossiping, might have recognised him… it makes him want to run away to his hotel room and stay there for the rest of the weekend. The queue shuffles forward. This was such a mistake. The diazepam he took this morning has thoroughly worn off. Everything is brittle and Dan’s hands shake and twitch.

Suddenly someone in a SitC staff shirt is jostling him forward, saying “your turn! Step forward please!”

Phil says “Hey! It’s nice to meet you! Do you want a hug?” His voice is so bright and bubbly – he doesn’t recognise Dan.

Then Dan looks up, and Phil’s smile falls. Dan looks down again.

“Dan?”

“Hey, um… hi, I guess?” Dan somehow manages to fix his own fringe, rebalance his weight, and mumble all at once.

“Oh, wow. Hi!” The AmazingPhil voice isn’t back, but (Dan peeks up through his fringe, he’s gotta _see_ Phil) the smile is. It’s a bit quieter now: no less genuine, but a lot softer. “It’s been ages, wow. How’ve you been?”

Dan’s trying to answer (“Um, yeah I’m good, I-“) when the staff guy who’d jostled him forward starts clearing his throat meaningfully. Phil looks at him and says “Oh, uh… Oh! Can I give you my number Dan? It would be really good to maybe get a coffee or something, later? I’ve gotta do this… thing-“

“Oh, yes, yeah! Of course. Um, one minute-“ Dan hands over his phone after digging it out of his pocket and unlocking it with shaky hands. He suddenly can’t remember what his wallpaper is, and he’s getting nervous that Phil might think his lack of phone case means he’s depressed or something, and oh God what if he gets a notification while Phil’s putting his number in? Dan’s breathing is starting to speed up and his face burns. When Phil hands his phone back Dan nearly snatches it away from him. He’s really gasping for air now. Phil’s carefully smiling at him; his eyes look far away like he’s remembering something.

Dan manages to mumble something like “cool, yeah I’ll like, text, um-“ and then he’s pacing away at a walking speed somewhere between jogging and running for his life.

Behind him he hears Phil’s voice chasing him, “bye Dan! It was good to see you!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

To: Phil!!!:D

18:58

“hey phil its dan :) do you still want to hangout?”

 

The text looks dumb and childish to Dan, but he’s been staring at it and rewriting it for over half an hour now and his eyes feel really dry and irritated. So, it’s being sent. So, whatever happens next is up to Phil now. He probably won’t even reply. That’s fine, it was just good to see him, Dan will be _absolutely_ _fine_ if Phil never replies. It’d be nice though. It would be very nice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Phil replies the next morning, stupidly early. The notification sound wakes Dan up. It takes a minute for his sleepy brain to work out what he’s reading:

“Dan!! Sorry for the late reply, I was exhausted yesterday :P if you still want to meet up we could get lunch? I have a break at 12!!”

Will it look weird if Dan replies straight away? He sighs at himself. It’s just _lunch_. Just two old friends getting lunch.

“that sounds good! is there a cafe here?”

“also good morning hi!”

Dan drags his body up so he’s sitting against the headboard and checks the time – 08:08. Dan hasn’t been awake this early since he got fired. Thinking that reminds Dan that he really needs to get a job, the money he’d had saved up is nearly all gone now. That’s a burst of anxiety Dan really could’ve done without this morning.

Thankfully Dan is saved from his spiralling by a reply from Phil.

“Actually I was wondering if you’d like to go to Island Gardens? it’s a park about 30 mins from here by DLR and there’s a tiny café there we could go to. I just kind of want to go somewhere quiet if that’s okay with you? I can send you directions :)”

It sounds complicated. But it’s also weirdly satisfying that Dan needs to go on a quest to win a chance to talk to Phil somewhere quieter. Because, it’ll feel like he’s earned Phil’s presence, maybe.

“yeah send me directions please!” even though he’ll Google them himself, too, just to be as sure as he can be about where he’s going.

From: Phil!!!:D

08:17

“:D:D:D” & the promised directions.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The café is very cute. It’s a tiny little building, in a park which is out of the way enough for it not to be too busy (for London in the summer). The sky is an almost unreal shade of blue, the green of the grass and trees is incredibly vibrant, and the River Thames is directly opposite – the view’s like something from a postcard. The staff in the café had actually _smiled_ at them, in London! Armed with coffee (decaf for Dan, something ridiculously sugary for Phil) and cake they sit together at the cute wooden tables outside.

The whole thing feels so surreal. Everything since arriving in London has felt surreal to Dan in contrast to his monotonous, careful little life in Wokingham, but this moment in particular feels strange enough that it has him shivering despite the summer heat. Ever since the word ‘stable’ was first used regarding Dan’s current mental state, he’s been terrified of anything which could ‘flip the switch’ in his brain, start it all up again. He constantly feels fragile. The vibrancy of everything today makes the world look like it does during a manic episode, and seeing Phil is wonderful and awful all at the same time – it’s too much. Maybe this was a mistake? Surely all these feelings will do something to his brain, wake up the monster sleeping in it. He’s glad he hadn’t had to wait for Phil (who had already been here, waiting for him) or he might’ve chickened out. Oh God, Dan’s starting to panic.

Phil reaches over the table and places his hand over Dan’s, making Dan look up at him, then carefully takes his hand away again, eats a forkful of cake. His cheeks go a little pink. As if in response, Dan’s feels his ears warm with a matching blush. Dan drinks his coffee. His breathing slows a little, but his heart’s still racing.

It’s awkward. The silence between them is full, heavy. Dan’s knee shakes up and down under the table. Seagulls caw over the river.

“So, how’s SitC going?” He had to say something, but Dan feels dumb. What a bland question. Hadn’t he had things he wanted to talk to Phil about? Wasn’t that the entire point of travelling all the way to London?

“It’s good!” Phil seems relieved to have something to say, which makes Dan feel a little better about his boring question. “Yeah, it’s always nice to see the viewers in real life, you know? And especially as part of PJ’s group, you know, it sometimes feels like no one wants to watch _my_ stuff? Like, AmazingPhil stuff? All the KickThePJ stuff has higher view counts, not that that really matters, like, I’d still be –“

“Wait, wait, sorry, what PJ stuff? You’re working with PJ?” How had Dan not known that? It feels kind of weird to not know what’s going on in the YouTube community after being such a mega-fan of it for most of his teens, especially Phil’s channel. But after being gossiped about so much himself back in the day (and probably still now in niche groups) YouTuber gossip had lost pretty much all of its appeal to Dan, so really, it makes sense that Dan didn’t know.

Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising, Phil working with PJ. They were friends before Dan was friends with Phil, it makes sense that their friendship just got stronger while his and Phil’s relationship died, hideous and toxic. Dan’s jealous. It _bites_ at him while he tries to smile at Phil. He hopes it doesn’t show.

“Well, working _for_ Peej is more accurate really, I guess. I do video editing and stuff for him, and I act in some of his stuff. Badly! And we collab and stuff, you know, all that. It’s fun, honestly, and I owe a lot of my subscribers to my work with him.”

Dan kind of wishes Phil would stop saying “you know”, as if Dan is still a part of the YouTube world. Instead of replying he takes another long sip of coffee.

“So, um, what about you? What do you do now?” Phil seems to wince at his own question – probably expecting Dan to still be a complete mess who can’t hold down a conventional job.

Dan bites his lip. He hears his therapist in his mind, saying _I think you might be projecting, Dan_. So, he tries to sound bubbly and optimistic when replies “I _was_ working for a supermarket, shelf stacking and stuff? Really fun work,” here he forces a laugh, tries not to sound embarrassed, “but, yeah, I stopped working there a couple months ago. Looking for a new job, maybe I’ll move up the ladder and try out being a cleaner or something.” Another forced laugh.

Phil looks a bit sad, a bit uncomfortable, and quickly changes the subject.

They talk about their families (they’re well), where they’re living now (Phil has a small apartment in London all to himself), and the weather (isn’t it lovely?). Conversation becomes easier and their shoulders drop a little at each successful subject ticked off the ‘catch-up’ list in their minds. At one point they get a second round of coffee. But eventually the elephant in the room has to be addressed:

“And, uh, how are you Dan?”

It’s clear what he means. _You still crazy?_

_Projecting, Dan. You’re projecting again._

“I’m… good, actually. Yeah, really good. Haven’t had a mood episode in… about a year now?”

Phil’s eyes get a little bigger. He looks like he’s trying to hold back a grin. “A year? Dan, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you – not that, uh, not that I, I don’t mean –“

“No, um, that’s really nice to hear. Really nice. Um, yeah, so, it’s been about a year and I’m on medication. See my therapist regularly. It’s been really good, actually.” He should probably say something about how he _will_ relapse one day, but Phil’s smile is the most genuine he’s seen this entire conversation. Dan doesn’t want to ruin that. He always makes Phil sad. Making him… _proud_ for once feels nice. Dan’s blushing again.

The conversation shifts again – video game releases, movies, their favourite actors. When the smiley lady from the café starts collecting mugs and plates from the table next to them she casually mentions that they’re closing now and takes their long-empty mugs with her.

Dan and Phil stand and giggle a little, awkwardly. They start to set off together, to get the DLR back to SitC and their hotels. On the train their shoulders bump together with the movements of the carriage (it feels like sparks every time they touch and Dan sternly tells himself that he’s lucky to have even had this conversation, he’s not going to force a real friendship, he will not).

They pass Dan’s hotel on the way back to the venue; Phil apparently has a panel soon-ish. Dan’s tempted to go watch him, but he doesn’t want to be overbearing. Plus, he’s exhausted. He can’t imagine how Phil has the energy to do all this. They linger a little at the door of the hotel. Phil sticks his hands in his pockets (at awkward looking angles) and clears his throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

“So, I’ll, um, text you?” Dan can hear a hint of desperation in his own voice, and he hates it. “Or, like, you could text me, if you want? I’m going back to Wokingham tomorrow, so. Yeah.”

“Wait Dan, wait, uh… I don’t want, like. We didn’t talk for five years. And I know that was mostly my fault, but I really don’t want to lose you again - so, uh, would you like to do this again? Soon?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They keep texting. It gets easier. They get coffee in Reading the week after SitC, and then watch Ant-Man together in a cinema in London a few days later. They get lunch together the week after that. After playing Mario Kart against each other online a few times, they decide they need to see each other’s reactions to losing in person, so they start going to Phil’s apartment to play together. Dan never sleeps over.

It gets easier every time they hang out, but the conversation’s always pretty surface level and safe. It’s just nice to be friends again. Dan could be happy with this friendship forever – the banter and pizza and movies are more than he could ever have asked for. He’s felt more emotions over the course of this month than he let himself feel over the last year.

But when he thinks of telling Phil how much he missed him, or not letting go when Phil hugs him goodbye, or (the worst) kissing him, Dan pinches his thigh. He’s not allowed to think about that. He’s not going to ask for any more from Phil, because Dan knows he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t trust himself with it. This is more than Dan deserves, and he cherishes every text Phil sends him, grinning every time he gets a notification.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The carefully placed lines blur a bit when Phil asks if he can see Dan’s house. “You know where I live, I think it’s only fair!” He’s joking, but Dan still feels a hit of guilt at the thought that their friendship is still unequal (even if just in this small, seemingly insignificant way).

“I could give you a tour of Wokingham, then take you back to my place?” As soon as he’s said it he facepalms, glad Phil can’t see him over the phone. _‘Take you back to my place’? Seriously Dan?_

Thankfully Phil laughs (it sounds wonderful, even filtered through the phone), and says “that sounds cool! Are you free on Thursday?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The day’s good, but so weird. When he sees Phil walking around the town he’s been hiding in for the past three years, it feels like Dan’s past and present are colliding. In a lot of ways it’s very uncomfortable, but surprisingly it’s also kind of nice, in a way. He feels connected to the person he used to be in a way that he hasn’t since he became stable. It kind of feels like… he gave the person he was up when he became healthy – threw his personality out with the illness, the baby out with the bathwater. So, it’s a lot – seeing Phil wandering around Wokingham with him. Surreal. A little overwhelming.

He shows Phil the little bookstore where he’s starting working (Phil had cheered him on while he applied for jobs around town and cheered for him when he got accepted to this new job). They don’t walk past Dan’s parents’ house, and he doesn’t guide them there. They get coffee in the Costa across the street from the tiny building where Dan sees his therapist.

 

When they get back to the house and Dan’s given Phil a little tour of his home (Phil smiling softly the entire time and complimenting Dan’s taste in décor) they sit down on the comfy old sofa with cups of tea.

Somehow the conversation drifts from Wokingham, to Dan, to Dan’s mental health.

“Today’s been really good. Actually, yeah, pretty much every day over the past month or so has been really good.” Neither of them mention that that’s the same amount of time they’ve been hanging out for, but Phil grins down at his half empty mug. Dan’s trying to be cool and casual and easy-to-be-friends-with, so he pretends not to notice.

“I’m really glad you’re doing so well Dan. You deserve it.”

Dan can’t meet Phil’s eyes. He can feel himself blushing.

He puts his mug down on the floor so that he can pinch his own thigh.

It’s not fair. Dan’s going to lose this one day. Phil’s being tricked into a friendship with a looming deadline, assuming they’ve got all the time in the world. Dan suddenly hates himself, fiercely, in a way that he hasn’t in years. What he’s doing, keeping the fact that he’ll inevitably relapse and ruin all of this from Phil, is not fair. He needs to tell him. Phil deserves the truth, even if it makes Dan sad when he leaves.

“Phil, I need to tell you something.” He blurts it out.

Phil stills, seeming to immediately understand how serious Dan is. He puts his mug down too, turns slightly to face Dan. When he sneaks a look at Phil’s face Dan can’t work out how he’s feeling – Phil’s face is a blank mask. Dan swallows and looks away, down at his feet. “It’s pretty inevitable that I’m going to relapse someday. It could be next week, or next year, or, fuck, tomorrow – I literally have no way of knowing. But bipolar’s, like, a lifelong illness, you know? I just don’t want to trick you into giving me a second chance when the likelihood of me never having an episode again is, like, really, really low. So.” He clears his throat. Phil’s not saying anything, and Dan can’t summon the courage it’d take to look at him, to see his reaction. So he continues, “I should’ve told you before, I just didn’t want to upset you. I upset you so much before and I just, didn’t want to be that guy again. Sorry.” His voice had gotten quieter as he spoke until it was trailing off and nearly a whisper. Phil still hasn’t said anything. “Phil?”

“But there’s a chance you won’t, right?” Phil’s voice is surprisingly steady. He raises his head to look at Dan – when did he look away? – determined and calm. More than anything, he looks strong. Dan wishes he was strong. The concept of relapse is more terrifying than ever, now that he has Phil to lose, again. “Dan, listen. Even if… If you do relapse. You’re so much more protected against it now, right? You know the warning signs, you’re prepared.”

Dan chimes in, “we made a plan. Me and my therapist, we made a relapse plan. Just in case.”

“That’s good.” Phil nods. His voice drops a bit, “don’t worry Dan. We’ll catch it, don’t worry.” He takes hold of Dan’s shaking hand, gently, slowly like he’s trying not to scare him off. It’s like the entire world narrows down to the feeling of Phil’s hand touching his, Dan’s heartbeat loud in his ears. “You must be scared of it, yeah? Getting ill again?”

There’s a lump in Dan’s throat. He feels transparent. But of course Phil could see through him, it’s _Phil_. “Yeah.” His voice breaks halfway through the word. Phil’s silent, carefully watching Dan. He’s either thinking or waiting for Dan to elaborate. The nerves win – Dan opens his mouth again, tripping over his words in a hurry to keep this moment (this closeness) going: “It was just, you know, so awful before. Like, so – I couldn’t do _anything_. And I hurt so many people, like, _you_ , and God it was so awful. Like, life’s like this real thing I can actually _do_ now without completely failing and ruining everything I touch, not to be, like, super dramatic…” His voice trails off. His eyes dart around the room. It’s quiet again.

Phil runs his fingertips over the back of Dan’s hand, cradling it with his other hand. His hands are soft. He must moisturise. Dan thinks _Self care_. He thinks _I want to properly hold his hands. Like, all the time_. “God…” Phil’s voice sounds kind of weird, so Dan looks at him. There are tears pooling in Phil’s eyes and he’s biting his lip. Does he… feel bad for Dan? But that’s wrong, no, it was all Dan’s fault. Dan and his fucked-up brain ruined his life, ruined _them_. Phil was nothing but loving and sweet. It was Dan’s fault. “You could’ve died. I left you in that hospital, out of your mind and… you needed me. And then for years – _years_ – you were falling apart in public, on YouTube. You know I watched all your videos? I kept telling myself I couldn’t help you. That you would’ve got in contact if you needed me. It was… I’m a _coward_.” He’s gripping Dan’s hand now. Now Dan can’t look away from his eyes, it feels like Phil’s staring into his goddamn soul. “I’m sorry Dan. I’m really, really sorry. Do you think you can forgive me, maybe?”

Dan’s a bit speechless. “I, uh – what? I don’t – um – “

That’s clearly the wrong answer because now Phil’s pulling his hands away from Dan’s, clenching his jaw. “That’s okay Dan, I completely understand – “

“ – No, Phil – wait. Fuck.” This is too much. In all of Dan’s daydreams about this conversation, it had always been Dan apologising, begging Phil for forgiveness. “I – you didn’t do anything wrong? You were young, and, God, not a _psychiatrist_ for fucks sake. There was literally no way you could’ve, what, _healed_ me?”

“Not _healed_ but, Dan, I should’ve been supporting you. I was supposed to be your – your friend. At least.”

It feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Never, in all of their coffee dates and lunches and video game sessions over the past month, have either of them mentioned ‘the relationship stuff’. Hell, they didn’t even talk about it back when it was actually happening. “We were just friends.” His voice is weak.

Phil’s isn’t. “I really liked you Dan. Like, more than I’d liked anyone before. Or since. Except, you know, Buffy.”

Dan can’t even laugh at the joke, Phil’s honesty is overwhelming. Dan looks down at his hands. He remembers the feeling of Phil’s fingertips on them, wants them back. “Phil, it wouldn’t’ve been healthy.” He clears his voice, it’s steadying now. “We were young, and I was pretty much obsessed with you.” He looks up at Phil, who looks paler than usual. “I would’ve gotten really dependent on you, and I could’ve dragged your YouTube career down along with mine. You did the _right_ thing, Phil.”

Phil leans back on the sofa, exhales heavily. He’s staring up at the ceiling, tired and pale. Dan can’t relax, his feet tap and his fingers twist around each other but he can’t look away from Phil’s face. After a moment of silence Phil pushes his hair away from his face and looks back at Dan, murmurs “we’re gonna need to talk more about this. I mean, I’ve spent the past five years beating myself up for not taking care of you.”

Now Dan can choke out a laugh, “yeah. I mean, I get it, I’ve been like that too. About how I treated you back then I mean. I ignored your texts and _seduced_ you and _embarrassed_ you in front of your friends… and I can’t, like. I can’t believe you’re actually talking to me again, after everything I did to you, all the stress I must’ve put you through.”

Phil’s eyes are getting wet again, his eyebrows furrowed together. When he speaks, he sounds like he’s in physical pain. “You were _ill_ Dan. God… you’ve got to forgive yourself Bear.” And that’s done it, Dan’s full-on crying now. Phil grabs his hand again. “All that stuff was just… _symptoms_. It wasn’t you.”

Dan knows he needs to reply, but he can’t stop crying. The fucking waterworks are on now, he’s hiccupping and weeping and then Phil’s holding him and it just gets worse. Phil’s poor jumper, getting covered in snot and tears. Ugh.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.”

Phil’s hand is soothing over his back. His voice is wavering when he says, “it’s okay Bear. I’ve got you, it’s okay.” He ducks his head to rest on Dan’s. “I’m sorry too.”

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

Phil’s still sniffling and trying to subtly wipe his eyes when they exchange goodnight’s, Dan slowly walking up to his bedroom, Phil preparing to sleep on the sofa. Dan gave him blankets, and pillows, and offered him the bed, like, three times.

It hurts to walk away from him, even just to go sleep, but he does.

This thing they’ve got back, somehow, magically – it’s special. They need to take care of it, to take it slow. To take care of each other. It’ll be easier now that they’re both older, and healthy. Maybe they were supposed to wait. Maybe they’ve worked hard for this second chance, and it’s up to them to make it better this time.

Either way, Phil will leave Dan’s house the next day, Dan waving at him from the worn old doorway of his quiet little house, and smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter titles from 'God Made It Rain' by Diane Cluck


End file.
